Defender (Seattle Sharks 9)

The breath rushed out of my lungs and some small part of my soul twisted with…disappointment? No, surely not. Perhaps the relief was simply so powerful it was churning my insides.

Nathan laughed again.

“You are so not funny,” I said, my fingers lightly touching the diamond.

“It’s funny if you’re me.” He stood, retrieved the necklace, and silently asked if he could put it on. I nodded, lifting my hair off my neck. “It’s not every day that I get to see you surprised,” he said, fastening the necklace and then dropping to one knee before me so he could meet my eyes—a motion that two minutes ago would likely have caused me to faint. “You’re always one step ahead of me.” He smoothed a finger over my forehead. “That beautiful brain of yours.” He smirked, trailing that finger over my cheek, down my neck, and across the necklace, the small diamond now resting over the hollow of my collarbone. “It’s fun for me to see you like that.” He stood and retook his seat. “Though, you should know me better than that by now.”

I laughed, drawing in a long breath. “Should I? You Sharks marry so fast it’s a shock that you all don’t have your own reality sitcom.”

He nodded, seriousness coating his eyes. “If I was going to propose to you,” he said, eying the romantic setting around us. “It wouldn’t be this obvious.”

“Nathan, I—”

“Calm down, butterfly,” he said, smiling as he reached for my hand. “I know you, Harper. And you should know by now that I would never do anything you are firmly against.”

I sighed, a nervous laugh on my lips. “Well, I don’t know if I’d say I’m firmly against marriage…”

He tilted his head. “Since when?”

A flush crept along my cheeks. “I’m just saying that it may work for some people.” I shrugged. “Maybe Faith and Lukas,” I said.

“They’re perfect for each other,” he agreed.

“And, well…” I swallowed. “Your parents.”

He raised his brows.

“What?” I said. “They could make a believer out of even the most skeptical.”

“Meaning you.”

I shrugged again, reaching for the small bag I’d hung on the chair. “Here,” I said, sliding a wooden rectangular box across the table.

Nathan didn’t look nearly as nervous as I had been when he’d given me my gift, but his eyes were curious as he popped the lid.

The watch inside was an ice-silver, the face snow-white. The numbers glistened like the stars above us—like the moon had on the lake at Christmas. He freed it from the box, grinning down like he knew exactly why I’d chosen the watch.

I pointed to the face. “Because we’re short on time,” I said, and he swallowed hard. Then I flipped it over, showing the engraving on the back, my heart in my throat. He drew the watch closer, his eyes scanning the design I’d created myself—three letter ‘N’s’ inside an infinity symbol, small yet significant.

Nathan.

Nixon.

Nicholas.

He stared at it so long my heart plummeted right into my stomach. “I…I had hoped it would be a comfort. I’m sorry. I can take it back—”

He pulled it away from me when I tried to reach for it, his eyes lined with tears he wouldn’t dare shed. He fastened the watch on his left wrist, his lips parting as if to speak but he quickly closed them again and planted me with a look that said enough. Said so much my chest ached and tightened, that connection between us blazing with need.

I scooted my chair back, walked around the table, and sat in his lap. His face in my hands, I returned that look, the one he’d branded me with, and silently told him I understood. I understood how much he missed his brother, how much he wished he was closer to the one he had remaining. How much they both meant to him, and how sometimes he couldn’t contain all the pain lashing inside his soul like waves in a storm.

So maybe I wasn’t the only one who needed an anchor.

Maybe he needed me as much as I needed him.

I pressed my lips against his—not a kiss to arouse or claim, but one to comfort. Something I’d never done before. A slow, gentle kiss to siphon some of that pain from him. A sweet, sizzling kiss to show him he wasn’t alone.

That I was here.

For him.

For whatever amount of time we had left.

Chapter 15

Noble

“And I’m telling you, again, that the stats don’t justify the kind of money this team spends on the roster!”

The locker room was silent as we blatantly listened to the argument Paulson was having with Coach on the other side of the door.

“Every team has rebuilding years,” Coach calmly answered.

Lukas hissed like he’d been shot. Yeah, it was an ouch kind of comment. No team liked to think they were in a rebuilding year. Rebuilding meant this season was already down the toilet.